


The Inquisitor's Son

by lokasenna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Before Trespasser, Crush at First Sight, Dorian Pavus Learns What Love Is, M/M, Mutual Pining, Old Inquisitor, Slow Burn, The Game, Theodosian politics, bandying words at fancy parties, clan lavellan DOESN'T DIE, did I mention politics? So much politics, i can have my cake and eat it too thanks, nerding out over old books, there is more than one Lavellan at Skyhold, they both know they're into each other and yet, two flirtacious boys flirt flirtatiously, very ambitious Inquisitor, when are they not drunk honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-06 22:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14066937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokasenna/pseuds/lokasenna
Summary: A year after the defeat of Corypheus, Inquisitor Banal'ras Lavellan throws a grand fete at Skyhold celebrating a year of peace.Dorian returns from Tevinter with a new title and full of nostalgia for the charming South.But there's a new addition to the place: a strapping young Dalish elf, in Dorian's section of the library no less, looking at his books! Book-snooping aside, he wouldn't mind getting to know this elf better.But the Inquisitor has other plans.





	1. Another Elf

**Author's Note:**

> My main Inquisitor's playthrough is so damn depressing, I started to think of AUs. What if someone else from his clan becomes Inquisitor, someone much more competent and not likely to break under the pressure? Except that Banal'ras is ambitious. And he's willing to pull his clanmates into the mess of Theodosian politics to further his goals. Besides, he and Dorian still need to meet each other somehow, right?

Dorian arrived the day before the main festivities. All of Skyhold was abuzz with activity: soldiers putting up tents, horses pulling wagons full of treats and delicacies from all over the South, workers carrying straw for a last-minute rethatching of the buildings within, and the air laden thick with the smells of enough food to feed an army. The area once dedicated to the sick and wounded was now a pleasure ground; the booths that once sold weapons now stocked sweet pastries and candied fruits; the training grounds were being prepared for jousts and games of martial skill. He wasn’t all too surprised to find that he had missed the Southern rustic charm of the people of Skyhold.

As he dismounted his horse, he heard his name being called from above. Dorian looked up to see the Inquisitor standing on the steps beneath the keep, with Josephine and Vivienne at his left and right hand. The old elf came down the steps smiling at him warmly, and clasped his arm in greeting. “Dorian, my boy. It is good to see you again.”

“And you as well, my lord,” he replied with a nod.

The Inquisitor stopped, gave him a wry look, and swatted at his head, Dorian just barely dodging it with a laugh.

“Alright, you old badger, I get the hint. Had enough formalities for one day?”

“I’ll be having more than enough tomorrow. I hardly need any from you,” he said, pulling Dorian into a hug, clapping him hard on the back. “It truly is good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Banal’ras,” Dorian responded. They broke apart and he noticed the split dragon tooth still hanging from the Inquisitor’s neck. “And Bull? How is he? I’m surprised he hasn’t charged me down already.”

Banal’ras sighed, but a smile played on his face. “He’s supposed to be helping around the keep, doing the heavy lifting. I fear that most of the heavy lifting done today was tankards of ale.”

“Still at it, is he? I’ll be honest, I’m not looking forward to being drunk under the table by a full-grown Qunari again.”

The two had little time to catch up before Josephine called upon the Inquisitor’s advice on something, so Banal’ras directed Dorian in the direction of his apartment. The same room he slept in back when Corypheus still posed a threat.

He found the room above the garden to be cleaner and better furnished than it ever was under his own care, with warmer blankets in Tevinter embroidery, and fine Antivan wine in an elaborate decanter.

By far the most interesting addition to the place was a small green book titled “An Elvhen Dictionary”, apparently commissioned by Banal’ras himself. Dorian snapped the book shut and shook his head, looking around at the changes in his room once more. These sorts of details were unheard of when he first joined the Inquisition. _Fasta vass_ , they were unheard of through most of the Inquisition’s existence. Only after Corypheus was defeated was Banal’ras able to harness the resources at his hand to turn the Inquisition into a diplomatic, peacekeeping world power. He had to give him credit, the old elf did well.

A thought popped into his head as he put the book back down at his bedside. Could it be possible that the Skyhold library had improved as well? All those requisitions he put in during his stay at the keep, the ones they never had the resources to acquire; were the books there now? The very idea almost made him giddy.

Actually getting to the library turned out to be more of an endeavor than he anticipated, as he dodged long tables being moved through the great hall, followed by barrel after barrel of all manners of drink into the painted rotunda, their placement directed by Josephine. He stopped to say hello of course, then stopped again to look at the frescoes documenting the Inquisition's progress. Josephine had the right idea extending the party into this room. The paintings were no less impressive than when he watched Solas paint them from the floor above.

Josephine caught him staring at the mysterious unfinished portion, and quietly mentioned that Solas had not yet returned. Dorian had expected as much. But he felt sorry for the Inquisitor’s loss of a good friend.

Then he glanced up to the library floor and softly gasped. Josephine giggled.

“I wouldn’t get too excited, Lord Dorian. Coming from Tevinter, I’m sure our library pales in comparison to what you are used to. But the Inquisitor and I did enlarge it to suit our needs. And yours.”

He turned to her in awe. “You didn’t.”

“We acquired copies of most of the books you asked for. There were several in one note you left us that were only available at the Minrathous library of rare books, however.”

“I recall that list. I believe I was very homesick at the time I wrote it. And just as drunk.”

“But we do have facsimiles of those books.”

Dorian froze. Then he found his breath and said, “Lady Josephine, this is an incredibly cruel joke you are playing--”

“Honestly!” she cried, and laughed. “The Inquisitor commissioned for them to be copied. Officially to distribute them among the major circles, but we do have our own set as well. Our gift to you, for your services to the Inquisition.”

“Josephine, I could kiss you right now if I had the time, but I have to go, right now, immediately.”

He turned on his heel and made for the staircase, a smile pulling on his lips as he heard Josephine’s laughter behind him.

Stepping over the ribbon strung before the staircase (thanking Josephine inwardly for barring tomorrow’s drunkards from the precious, precious library), he took a moment on the stone steps to just breathe, and let his admiration flow forth from his heart. Josephine! What an inestimably phenomenal woman. And Banal’ras, the person to truly thank. Dorian shook his head and mounted the steps once more. Certainly, becoming a patron to scholarship was a shrewd means of amassing and solidifying influence. Corypheus was a year dead and the Inquisition was not going away anytime soon, not if the Inquisitor went on as he did.

Cresting the top of the landing, his vision was filled with bookcases stacked to the brim. Not an empty shelf in sight. Everything else was as familiar as he had left it, and with nobody up here to bother him. _Now_ this _was home_.

The thought popped into his head unbidden, and he was surprised by how truthful it felt. He barely spent a year in this crumbling castle in the frozen South, complaining constantly and missing Tevinter bitterly. And yet arriving here felt as much a homecoming as returning to Qarinus. Perhaps more so.

But now was not the time for sentimental musings on what was home, and what all that meant. He had business to attend to. Dorian guessed that the facsimiles were in his treasured corner of the library, since they were gifts to him after all.

His elation dissipated when he rounded the corner to his alcove and found someone else already standing there, holding his new copy of _Terra de Dormienti_.

The young man looked up and Dorian recognized the markings on his face. They were very similar to Banal’ras’ tattoos.

The Dalish elf blinked. “Hello.”

The word broke their spell of silence. Dorian put on his most dashing smile and bowed. “Forgive me, ser, I was not expecting anyone else in the library at this time.”

“Neither was I,” the elf said, mirroring his smile. Then he unsurreptitiously looked Dorian up and down, smirking at something he found there. _Oh_. Well two can certainly play this game.

He was about to introduce himself with all flourishes included when his gaze landed on the open book in the elf’s hands once more. “Don’t tell me you can read archaic Tevene, ser,” he said admiringly.

“Hardly. I know just enough low Tevene to say hello and goodbye, but this is beyond me. The glyphs are familiar, however.” Dorian craned his neck to see the drawing on the page, and the elf held the book between them. He wouldn’t admit that he knew just as much archaic Tevene as his handsome companion, but he was more surprised to find the glyphs just as foreign.

“Familiar, you say? I’ve never seen its like.”

“I’ve seen our Keeper use something similar, for entering a person’s dreams.”

Dorian was taken aback. “Entering-- Forgive me, but I thought that art was restricted to the somniari.”

“The who?”

“Dreamers, my apologies. Your Keeper isn’t a dreamer, is he?”

“She. And no, I don’t believe she is. I’ve only seen it once or twice, when someone is very soul-sick.”

“Soul-sick, hmm. You’ll have to explain that one to me.”

The elf’s brows furrowed. “Is that not in the common tongue?”

“Ostensibly yes, but I’m unfamiliar with the term. Humor me.”

Turned out that “soul-sick” was how the Dalish described a whole host of mental and emotional ailments, ranging from melancholy to the deep shock of witnessing a traumatic event. Dorian admired the Dalish for acknowledging those sorts of things at all, and said so to his companion. Then the conversation turned back to the book in hand, and on and on it went, sparkling with newfound arcane wisdom on both their parts. Until Dorian realized he was starving.

“I’m afraid I just remembered that I hadn’t eaten since dawn today,” he said in a lull in the conversation. His companion hummed a laugh.

“That was several hours ago, now.”

“Maker’s breath, how did I survive this long?” he said, standing up from his armchair. The elf remained seated on the floor, surrounded by the multiple books they had opened for cross-reference. There hadn’t been a table large enough. “I suppose time flies in fantastic company.”

“I suppose it does.”

Dorian felt a thrill of warmth through him, and turned back to the elf. Eyebrows raised, eyes lidded, full mouth curled in a smile, he looked at Dorian quite suggestively. Dorian couldn’t say that he had ever been hit on by a Dalish elf before, but even more remarkable was how forward this one was. And how willing Dorian was to reciprocate.

“Perhaps I should send for something to eat?” he said, stepping towards the banister to the floor below. Perhaps Josephine was still there. “Any suggestions for lunch?”

The elf smirked like he had a good response to that, when a voice resounded through the rotunda.

“Rakki?” the Inquisitor called from below. “Are you in here?”

The elf’s coy countenance dropped, and he rose silently to his feet. _Don’t tell him I’m here_ , he mouthed to Dorian.

Banal’ras called the name again before Dorian stirred himself to nod.

Turning back to the banister to the floor below, Dorian fixed an expression of friendly concern to his face and leaned his arms on the railing. It seemed that Josephine and the workers had left long ago.

“Banal’ras, you old badger, what are you doing hallooing so loud and interrupting my reading?”

The Inquisitor spun his white head around to face him. “I’m looking for my apprentice, Rakki,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest. “A Dalish elf, just about your age.”

“Can’t say that I’ve seen him. Josephine told me about the facsimiles you commissioned, and I’ve been up here ever since.”

The old elf’s face lit up at that. “You like them, do you? I was hoping you would.”

“Are you kidding? Diligent copies of some of the oldest and rarest books in Tevinter? Do you have any idea what a contribution to scholasticism you have made?”

“Admittedly, I had no idea until Lady Montilyet returned to me with news that you had requested some of the oldest and rarest books in Tevinter.”

“A fit of inebriated homesickness, I assure you. I never intended the requisition to see the light of day.” Dorian shook his head in awe. “But you did it anyway.”

“Like you said, a contribution to scholasticism. Madame de Fer tells me the debt to the Circles cannot be repaid.”

“Ah,” Dorian sighed knowingly. “There’s your line of thinking.”

“Of course. But allow me to join you up there,” he said, heading towards the stairwell, “I could tell you about the craftsmanship at least, though I know little of the content.”

 _Kaffas_. “Actually, I was meaning to go find some lunch. I just realized I hadn’t eaten since dawn and I am starving,” he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. He resisted the urge to check the alcove behind him. The Inquisitor stopped.

“It’s nearly three hours past the noon bell, Dorian.”

“Did I mention your contribution to scholasticism? I haven’t actually read any of these books before, you know. Only heard legends.”

Banal’ras chuckled. “Well, I might as well join you in finding something to eat. Rakki will show up when he wants to,” he said, a cynical thread in his voice. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Elvhen, perhaps.

“I’ll be down in a moment,” said Dorian, stepping out of sight and turning back to his companion. But Rakki was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve got a couple more chapters already written, and I feel like this story has some ways to go yet...  
> Catch me on tumblr @ czajnik


	2. Apprentice

“Rakki of clan Lavellan,” Dorian said over his second glass of wine. “What do you make of him, madame?”

Vivienne followed his gaze to the man in question, standing next to the Inquisitor amid a group of Ferelden banns, and took a long moment to observe.

Finally, she responded. “He would look much better in white.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, he’d look much better in ciel blue. And gold.”

“My dear, that sounds a little too Orlesian for a Dalish elf.” She paused, looking back to the object of their conversation, sunlight glittering off the jewels in her hennin. Dorian hid a smile behind a sip of wine as he watched the image form in her eyes. “I’m surprised to hear a Tevinter lordling suggest it, but I suppose you are right.”

He very nearly flinched at the descriptor. “Must you wound me so, even as you compliment me?”

“Especially as I compliment you, darling. I have no desire to inflate your ego any more than you do yourself.”

Dorian shrugged. “Fair enough.”

The unlikely pair stood in a corner of the Great Hall, watching the festivities unfurl before them with practiced aloofness. Dorian wondered if the Madame de Fer was humoring him, standing near him for so long with less words exchanged than silence. Or perhaps the silence was a companionable one, and she did actually miss him as much as she said she did. He would never accuse her of the latter, but he quietly suspected it.

“Although I must admit that our Inquisitor’s staging of his apprentice is quite clever, regardless of what colors suit him,” she said. Or this corner gave the best vantage point upon the two elves, Dorian thought.

“You don’t think their wearing the same color is too deliberate?” he replied. Banal’ras’ overcoat was a cooler shade of black, almost steely compared to Rakki’s warmer tones, but they were the two darkest points in the room.

“Our dear Inquisitor is always deliberate.”

“Of course, I’m not contesting that.”

“He must be presented to all as an attaché to the Inquisitor. He is his apprentice after all.” Vivienne took a long sip of her wine. “Interesting that no one knows what exactly he apprenticed for, however.”

“Ah. I have an idea about that.”

Vivienne may have travelled more with Banal’ras since the disappearance of their favorite elven apostate, but Dorian frequented the Herald’s Rest. He distinctly remembered a time when Iron Bull loudly and drunkenly explained to his company that it takes one to know one. That Banal’ras saw through him to who he was, because of who Banal’ras was. Bull sounded so sentimental that Dorian was almost embarrassed to remember it. But he understood that to mean that the Inquisitor was a spy of some sort before the conclave. It certainly suited him.

But Vivienne didn’t press him for his ideas, so he let the conversation drop.

Instead, he watched the young shadow of the Inquisitor, positive that Vivienne was watching him too. Sparing a glance around the room, he noted that many others did so as well. Rakki was the greatest mystery in attendance, one that Banal’ras was careful to shroud from everyone until he alone decided to unveil him. Because Dorian knew as much as everyone else that there was a scheme at hand.

Frowning, he said, “A shame that he isn’t being presented as his own man.”

“Think of it as a debutante ball, my dear. He could hardly be expected to navigate the world’s politics on his own, fresh from a Dalish camp.”

Dorian sighed.

“I understand your concern, but it is certainly safer for him this way,” she murmured, just loud enough for only him to hear. He would argue that not being introduced to the whirlpool of Theodosian politics was the safer option, but perhaps the young elf didn’t despise it all as much as Dorian did. He doubted that, but maybe he did.

Despite his misgivings the day before, the Inquisitor looked to be in his element among the comtes and arls. Dorian took note of how he stood as he spoke to some noble ally, stately and straight-backed as a column. His apprentice wore an expression of perfect attention, listening carefully to the noble’s tale, offering no thoughts of his own, but intermittently glancing at the older elf’s face. Studying him. Then his golden eyes met Dorian’s.

That same smile from yesterday curled softly on his lips, and he held Dorian’s gaze as he leaned down into Banal’ras’ ear, whispering something to him. The Inquisitor did not react in any perceptible way, and continued to converse with the noble. Rakki stared at Banal’ras for a moment, eyes wide, then turned his attention back to the discussion at hand, his smile gone.

Dorian’s heart ached at the sight. He understood well the lesson the Inquisitor was teaching, but the interaction reminded him of his father. Perhaps a bit too much of his father.

With a flare of indignation, Dorian tipped the rest of his wine down his throat. Collecting his courage both liquid and conventional, he dropped the empty glass on a passing servant’s tray and strode boldly across the room. A pair of masked baronesses jumped out of the way as he came upon them, but he barely cared. Blame it on his deep Tevinter passions, as usual. The alcohol hadn’t even hit him yet.

Rakki noticed him coming towards them first, but where Dorian expected that curling smile again, he found the young elf eyeing him warily. Almost threateningly. A small pit of dread formed in his stomach as he slowed his pace considerably and adopted an air of nonchalance. Did he misread the situation? He, of all people? No, it must have been his expression. He must have looked to all the world like a summer storm come to flash lightning at the Inquisitor, and naturally, his apprentice rose to the challenge. How dutiful.

Upon Dorian’s arrival outside the small circle, the lord spotted him and made to bow out of the conversation, but Banal’ras stopped him with an extended hand, and implored him to give them but a moment, as he was eager to hear the end of his tale. As the lord stepped away towards the tables laden with food, Dorian took his place before the two elves. Banal’ras glared at him as openly as he could in polite company. It was still scathing.

“My Lord Inquisitor, when you told me about your missing apprentice yesterday, you failed to mention he was such a tall, strapping gentleman.”

Banal’ras chuckled mirthlessly, unsurprised, and the beginnings of that smile formed on Rakki’s mouth. _There it was_ , Dorian thought. He wondered absently how much he was willing to do just to see it. Enough to endure the Inquisitor’s exasperation, apparently.

“Fine then,” the Inquisitor grumbled. “ _Da’len_ , this is Lord Dorian of House Pavus, the Tevinter Ambassador to the Inquisition, and a treasured member of my inner circle.”

“You flatter me, Inquisitor.”

Brushing off the comment, he continued: “And Dorian, this is Rakki of Clan Lavellan, Hero of Wycome and my sole apprentice.” He clapped Rakki on the back, looking away towards the tables, saying, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I did actually want to hear what that man was going to say.” He spared Dorian another glare as he passed, and Dorian grinned brightly back at him.

“Finally shook him off, hm? You can thank me later,” he said, turning back to Rakki.

The elf looked less than amused. “Don’t expect that I appreciate your disrespecting my master. I am under his orders to observe his ways, not to mingle idly.”

Dorian was very nearly taken aback. Spoken like a true copy of Banal’ras himself. Or no, rather like a true student. This was no rote repetition; Rakki meant what he said. Or he covered up his true feelings as well as the Inquisitor did.

Well, if he was here to observe, let him observe _this_ sort of diplomacy.

He placed a hand over his heart. “My dear ser, forgive me if I made offense to your master. I meant no disrespect. I merely noted your completely understandable fascination with me, and when I saw your natural curiosity quashed by the Inquisitor, I could withhold you from my presence no longer. We must finally be introduced, I decided.”

Rakki grinned at him wryly. “And so you separated me from my teacher during the lesson.”

“Perhaps the teacher realized it was time for the student to take what he had learned outside the lesson.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, his expression softening around the eyes. Then he pointed his gaze to the tables behind him, and twitched a long ear towards Banal’ras. Of course he would be listening in, too. Dorian bowed his head ever so slightly. There will be no mention of the day before. He had more important things to discuss anyway.

“On the topic of your tutelage, Ser Lavellan, I’ve been meaning to ask you something since your debut to this soiree.”

“Have you, now?”

“Yes.” Dorian gestured idly to the rest of the hall. “Everywhere you are introduced, His Worship calls you his apprentice, names it last to draw special attention to it. And yet, no one here knows the nature of this apprenticeship.  I believe I speak for all in attendance when I say we are desperate to know.”

“I’m afraid I cannot disclose any information on that matter without my master’s express permission.”

“A shame you say that,” Dorian said, glancing around for a servant carrying glasses of wine. He hailed one such woman and took two glasses off her tray, presenting one to Rakki. “I’ll just have to continue naming professions until I get a reaction.”

Rakki looked between the offered glass and Dorian, that smile pulling at his lips. “You’re not being very subtle.”

“I’m appalled you would ever accuse me of such a thing,” Dorian replied warmly as he extended his arm further. The elf took took the glass then, fingers lingering just a beat too long against his own before bringing the wine to his mouth.

 _Now who’s not being very subtle?_   Dorian thought.

“Fine then. You win. I won’t beg you to go against your master’s orders. I wouldn’t dare cross our dear Inquisitor.”

“What about you, then?” said the elf, turning his golden eyes to Dorian. “You’re the Tevinter ambassador?”

“Indeed I am, though I’ve come to it fairly recently. A reward from the Archon himself for my invaluable service to Thedas on behalf of respectable Tevinters everywhere.”

“Really? I don’t recall the Inquisitor mentioning such invaluable service in any of his letters.”

Dorian gasped and took a step back as if reeling, placing a hand on his heart. “Not you too!” He paused for a moment to make room for a laugh, which Rakki was happy to oblige. It was beautiful, and Dorian felt his faux-wounded expression crack just a bit. “I am beset at every turn. I suppose the Inquisitor told you that teasing Skyhold’s favorite Vint was a treasured pastime, too?”

“He may have,” Rakki said. “I can see why, though. You make it too entertaining.”

“I’ll be sure to turn down the entertainment then. What should we talk about next? The weather? I hear the crops are doing well in Val Chevin.”

Rakki merely shook his head. “So this is Dorian of House Pavus.”

“He really did write about me, then. I’m flattered. What did he say?”

Rakki glanced over Dorian’s shoulder, to Banal’ras he presumed. To Dorian’s surprise, he then leaned forward, his face coming awfully close to his own. Dorian hoped he had the decency not to blush.

“In truth, he wanted me to avoid you,” he said quietly into his ear. The elf’s breath upon his skin was not helping him keep the color from his cheeks. Rakki was either completely unaware of his effect or very, very good. Dorian wasn’t sure which he preferred. How much did he have to drink again?

“Avoid me?” He said, turning ever so slightly toward him. If they were just a bit closer, their noses would be touching. “Why on earth would anyone want to do that?”

“Apparently he thought you’d be a bad influence upon my studies. I can’t imagine what he meant.” Rakki hadn’t moved, and they stayed there a moment, watching each other from the corners of their eyes, daring the other to move first. He _was_ good, Dorian concluded.

Three great claps echoed throughout the chamber, silencing all within in a matter of seconds. Rakki nearly jumped out of his skin to get away from Dorian fast enough, wine sloshing wildly in his glass. His absence felt like stepping away from a flame, and Dorian’s face felt oddly cold.

Banal’ras stood on the dias before the throne, Josephine at his side in a shining purple gown. Everyone’s attention was upon the Inquisitor, his hands still clasped together, holding the silence a moment longer before he spoke.

“Lords and ladies of Thedas,” he began, his deep voice projecting through the space, “I welcome you all to Skyhold for this momentous celebration. Today, we celebrate a year of freedom from the machinations of Corypheus, a year since the Breach was finally sealed.”

Applause erupted from the crowd below, with cries of “hear hear” scattered throughout. A group of more boisterous banns cheered loudly. Dorian clapped along, watching Rakki from the corner of his eye, but the elf only had eyes for the Inquisitor.

“We remember those we have lost, at the Conclave, at Haven, and all the deplorable loss of life since Corypheus set his plot to action. We remember also the victories,” he continued, and a couple of the banns whooped.

Was someone serving something stronger than wine?

“The victory at Therinfal Redoubt, where we discovered how deep Corypheus’ plans of corruption truly delved. The victory at Adamant Fortress, where we stopped an army of demons from overtaking Thedas. The victory in the Arbor Wilds, where we took the power Corypheus desired and turned it against him. And of course, the victory of Haven,” he stopped, cut off by the cheers of the crowd. Beside the Inquisitor, Josephine smiled brightly at the sight.

“Haven, where the Breach was sealed twice. Where we snatched victory out of Corypheus’ hands twice, who _twice_ believed that a surprise assault would catch us in our weakness. But here we stand, at the close of one year of peace.”

The comtes and arls filling the hall were practically eating out of his hands. Dorian wondered idly who authored this list of achievements, Josephine or the Inquisitor. Probably the Inquisitor.

Banal’ras forged on through the applause. “From the royal halls of Denerim to the Western Approach, from Nevarra and Antiva to the Frostback Basin, the Inquisition has routed the Venatori wherever they spread their poison, and has brought order and stability to where it was lacking.”

He said the last word with such a forceful inflection, that Dorian couldn’t help but laugh. Ever a master of understatement.

“But today,” he said, his voice ringing out until he could be heard, “we think of the future.”

And he stretched out his hand to Rakki.

Everyone in the hall turned to the elf standing next to Dorian. Dorian saw the barely contained shock on Rakki’s face. Banal’ras beckoned to him and Rakki lurched toward him like a puppet. The crowd parted before him, opening a path directly to the Inquisitor on the dais.

Dorian desperately hoped he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Rakki climbed up the steps up to the Inquisitor, shifting his weight until he stood there proudly. Or trying to be. Banal’ras placed a hand at his back.

“Lords and ladies of Thedas. I hope you agree with me that the Inquisition has done much good since its humble beginnings, and continues to do good even after our greatest threat has been defeated. In my effort to spread order and justice to all those who call upon us, I name Rakki of Clan Lavellan, Hero of Wycome, as my heir to the title of Inquisitor.”

The hall erupted. Nobles gasped and muttered to each other behind painted fans, as the quick of temper pushed forward to the front of the room, pointing and yelling at Banal’ras and Rakki in turn. The guards on the dais pointed their halberds at them, and Banal’ras waved them off as those closest jumped back out of the way. None looked more surprised by the turn of events than Josephine, her eyes wide as some began to turn on her.

Dorian felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Vivienne, watching the chaos intently with a wry turn in her mouth. The smell of ozone rolled off her in waves.

The Inquisitor raised his hand above them all, and a flash of green light sparked with an ear-splitting crack. “Lords and ladies of Thedas!”

Silence took the room. Everyone’s eyes were on the anchor. No one moved.

“Lord and ladies of Thedas,” Banal’ras began more gently. “I am no longer a young man. I must plan for the continued stability of Thedas.” He placed his hand on Rakki’s shoulder. “I shall continue to serve as Inquisitor into the foreseeable future. But until the day that title is passed, I ask you to treat this man as my own son.”

The nobility filling the room began squabbling again. Josephine rounded on Banal’ras, and seemed to be telling him to meet her in her office, _immediately._ Vivienne pushed past Dorian and into the crowd to support the Inquisitor as he remained, watching the elves on the dais.

Rakki looked at the Inquisitor with an inscrutable expression on his face as Banal’ras kindly entertained the complaints of a chevalier beneath him with a smile. Dorian met the younger elf’s eyes for but a moment.

He saw exactly what the thought he saw. The all-too-familiar shadow of bars, locking him in.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D politics! chaos! political chaos!
> 
> still working out the kinks (ha) in the next chapter, plus i'm trying to write my first dnd campaign (!!!) so it'll show up a little later than i'd like. but it's mostly written, so not too long now!! 
> 
> bug me @ czajnik on tumblr


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